


Letters

by ishiptheships



Series: I'm gonna ruin Claude's whole career [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Coming Out, Crimson Flower Route, F/M, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, I'm on my polycule/throuple angst bs i'm sorry, M/M, Multi, Post canon, Trans Claude von Riegan, bed sharing, i could not figure out a title whoops, pansexual male character, sad cf route hilclaurenz lives in my head rent free, this is all i think about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25102498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishiptheships/pseuds/ishiptheships
Summary: The wyvern snorts at Lorenz, who felt the heat of the beast’s breath on his cheek. Lorenz gives the wyvern a stern look. The wyvern hobbles its way to the nearby river.  His purple eyes follows the curves of the river up to the admittedly remarkable moutainscape. Lorenz had written back to Claude to meet him in Almyra, at the base of the mountains on this date and time of day.Suddenly feeling quite alone, Lorenz hopes Claude remembered.--Post Canon CF Route where Hilda dies. Lorenz decides to reconnect with Claude after he receives his letter.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Series: I'm gonna ruin Claude's whole career [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648216
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry for the shit ass title i'm horrible at titles 
> 
> hilclaurenz CF route where one of them dies lives rent free in my brain and so here it is it was about time i continued the series
> 
> please forgive any typos. its a fuck it let's post it kinda day. 
> 
> please enjoy

_LH Gloucester,_

_~~I’m sorry I haven’t~~ _ _I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize sincerely for my lack of communication since the fall of the Alliance. I broke our writing streak and instead took some time to think after fleeing Fódlan to Almyra. I have to admit, I’m not well. I have regrets—many of them leading to my loved ones’ deaths. Surely, you’ve heard of my failures from Gloucester Territory. It’s difficult for me to have hope these days, hope that I can be a good leader when everything I had done up to today let the ones who believed in me down. And worse._

_I have a few things to confess—about my heritage, my lineage…_

_—_

Lorenz folds the letter written in a beautiful, unique cursive. Tucking it deep into his breast pocket, he then lowers himself from the Goneril wyvern that helped him cross the mountains that make Fódlan’s throat. With Holst’s permission, he had crossed the border to the prairies and pine forests of Almyra. He didn’t mention why; the prospect of asking Holst to give him transportation to meet with the man whose actions caused his sister’s death was…distasteful. Holst was a man with a lot of weight on his shoulders—and they sagged just a little more after that fateful day. 

The wyvern snorts at Lorenz, who felt the heat of the beast’s breath on his cheek. Lorenz gives the wyvern a stern look. The wyvern hobbles its way to the nearby river. His purple eyes follows the curves of the river up to the admittedly remarkable moutainscape. Lorenz had written back to Claude to meet him in Almyra, at the base of the mountains on this date and time of day. 

Suddenly feeling quite alone, Lorenz hopes Claude remembered.

Lorenz stretches his joints from the hours of travel and finally sits beneath a cluster of trees near the river. The water trickles by lazily, the breeze weaving its way through the long blades of grass. Lorenz thinks how colorful the land is—beautiful blue skies and vibrant green prairies. It was so different than how he imagined Almyra. He had the impression that the land was dusty and dull. Yet the soil beneath him felt rich and fruitful, dark and heavy with moisture.

Lorenz spends the rest of the afternoon, pinching blades of grass within his fingers to keep his mind off the fact that Claude might have forgotten. It must be the only explanation for the tardiness. He sighs the afternoon away.

Disappointment seeps into him as the hours pass. Should he expect any different? Finally loosing his patience, he stands, dusts off his hands and his coattail, and turns to the wyvern who’s staring intently at the tree. Lorenz pays no mind and walks up to the creature, petting its neck before attempting to mount it.

The wyvern does not lower itself to the ground.

Another attempt is fruitless. Lorenz huffs in frustration before finally following the wyvern’s gaze to the figure in the tree branches, sleeping soundly.

Claude’s body is draped so precariously on a branch, Lorenz is afraid to wake him lest he falls and breaks a limb. Dressed in plain linen clothes and sandals that balance off his toes, Lorenz wonders how his skin looks so glowing and golden in the late afternoon sunlight, how sleep looks so good on him. He had never seen Claude look so peaceful.

Lorenz clears his throat.

Claude stirs, but does not move.

The wyvern stands on its hindlegs and nuzzles its snout to the prince, gentle enough to not knock him out of the tree.

The man opens his eyes suddenly, like an acrobat refusing to fall, a knife in his hand before he stares into the innocent eyes of the wyvern. He breathes a sigh of relief before his eyes trail to Lorenz below him.

His sandal falls to the ground and a small braid falls from behind Claude’s ear to rest next to his beard, fuller than Lorenz remembered it. Lorenz reaches down to retrieve the shoe like a heron bowing to take a sip of water, when he lifts it to the man in the tree.

“Have you always slept in trees?” Lorenz starts, and Claude laughs. It sounds different than before, genuine. Relaxed.

“For naps. I learned it from Petra, back at school.” His accent is thicker than Lorenz remembers. “You look good, Lorenz.”

Lorenz brushes the compliment away. “I’ve been here for hours! I thought—” Lorenz clears his throat to avoid his heart beating in his chest. His eyes meet Claude’s and he is suddenly reminded how handsome Claude is with his strong nose, green eyes, and long lashes. He swallows. “I thought that possibly you had forgotten.”

“Forget? Never.” Claude shakes his head. It takes a second to see the regret show on his face and Lorenz notices the fatigue of war. The slumped shoulders, the darkness under his eyes, the scar peaking from beneath his collar. His gaze trails across Claude’s collarbone and until he speaks again. “Shall we head out?”

“Of course.”

Once Claude whistles and a beautiful white wyvern emerges from the mountain side, the two men ride to a small secluded estate. It’s humbler than Lorenz had considered, but as in Claude letter, it really was a shame this was how their family was treated. He steps towards the house cautiously and Claude laughs.

“Don’t worry. This is mine alone. My parents live not too far from here.”

Lorenz meets Claude’s steps as they enter the house. It’s simple and neat, windows wide open to let in the wonderful summer breeze. The light linen curtains blow delightfully in the orange sunlight. A small clay-and-brick oven sits in the kitchen. The only indication of his status as a prince shows in the cushions and rug on the wooden floor. They are rich with pigment and the thread is woven tightly and intricately making the fabric feel thick and heavy in his hand. Lorenz strokes his hand onto the soft woven fabric of a pillow. “I hope you don’t stay here alone, not in the state you wrote to me in.”

“Ah.” Claude looks away sheepishly and turns away from Lorenz’s gaze. “Well, I visit my parents to get greens from their garden every few days. We have dinner together every weekend. Otherwise—“

“You’ve been alone?” Lorenz tries to hide the exasperation in his voice. The letter in his breast pocket burns against his heart. “In your state?”

Claude just laughs. “I’m not sick.”

“Still! I’ve…” Lorenz inhales a quick breath before letting his heart show. “I’ve experienced loss and unhappiness as you have.” Lorenz remembers the day his mother disappeared, suddenly gone. “I was young and don’t remember many details, but I was alone. I barely had gotten through it.”

“So caring. Is this why you are here?” Claude make his way to the kitchen. Lorenz doesn’t feel comfortable enough to follow. Instead, he notices how Claude left his shoes at the door, and he does the same. He takes off his coat, and notices his sweaty shirt sticks him. He fans himself as best he can.

“Partially.” Lorenz admits, sitting down on the rug that faces a large window panel, from ceiling to floor. He pulls the curtain away and finds himself face to face with the sunset.

Claude returns with a platter of flatbread, dried fruits, and soft cheeses. Lorenz is jolted back to a memory as a teenager, wistfully looking at the leader of his house from across the dining hall, imagining a day where the two would escape whatever duties they had, the scrutinizing eye of his father, and live in a cottage by the sea. How many times had he imagined Claude preparing him a meal? He reaches for the sturdy wooden platter and pulls apart the bread. As he struggles to place the cheese on it, Claude laughs.

“Just dip it. Almyran cuisine is all about sharing. We don’t necessarily care for individual portions like the Fodlanese do.” He exemplifies by using the flatbread as a vessel for the food.

“You must have missed this in Fodlan.” Lorenz says softly between bites. The bread is puffed and hot, and steam escapes as he breaks it. The fluffiness pairs well with fatty cheese.

He shrugs. “I did sometimes, but I did enjoy enough Fodlan cuisine in the Alliance. With game meat and stews. However, I remember not enjoying Fhirdiad cuisine when we were served it at Garreg Mach. Too bland.” Claude reaches next to him, opening an ottoman and taking out a rather beautifully made ebony and ivory chess set. “Care for a game?”

They set up the board together, fingers brushing briefly as they reach into the shallow box to retrieve their armies. Lorenz focuses on getting his ivory pieces in order. Whatever fantasies he had as an adolescent were just fantasies. He must get them out of his head.

“Did you…see Hilda?” Claude asks. He places a rook on the very right of his board, his last piece. Lorenz cannot help but notice how the ebony has been worn down at the edges, more so than the others.

Lorenz places a pawn. “Yes. I went to her funeral.” 

Claude stays silent.

“It was…” Lorenz choses his words carefully. White pieces go first. He slides a pawn forward. “Holst was…”

“He must have been a wreck.” Claude pushes a pawn towards Lorenz.

“To put it lightly.” Lorenz offers gently. Silence falls upon them as Lorenz places another pawn.

“So,” Lorenz cannot help but notice the change in topic. Claude barely touches the spread of dried fruits and soft cheeses in front of them. “Is your life still filled with wooing a future wife?”

Lorenz pauses before he answers. Embarrassment rises at the thought of how he acted in school. He decides to be truthful. “Wooing future wives has…not been a particular interest of mine as of late.”

His attention is on a particularly juicy looking fig, but he can’t help but notice Claude’s raised eyebrow.

“Is it…not an interest at all?” Claude speaks in codes.

The fig feels tough and dry suddenly in Lorenz’s mouth. Lorenz chews for what it seems hours before he can swallow the fruit. He looks down at his hands. “I wouldn’t say it’s _not_ an interest. Just…not a priority.”

Uncertainty hangs in the air. Lorenz elaborates, panic rising in his chest. “I mean, it’s not a priority despite me having not much else to do.”

That makes Claude chuckle. He reaches his hand for a moment, and Lorenz’s heart freezes before he sees Claude’s fingers grab a date. He breathes easily.

“When did you know?” There is a glitter in Claude’s eyes that Lorenz hasn’t seen since their school days. Lorenz sighs.

“I think I’ve always known. I just tried to hide it when we were younger.” Lorenz shifts his weight to adjust his seat. Lorenz winces at how he threw himself into wooing women to escape the fact he was hopelessly enamored with his rival.

The breeze is lovely, as the cool night air starts to overtake the hot weather, the sun barely peaking out from the flat horizon. Claude looks thoughtfully out into the prairie and the capital west in the distance. He sighs.

“Me too.”

Lorenz stares. “You—”

“I mean. I guess I would say, I prioritize equally?” Claude grins and winks at Lorenz. Lorenz can feel the pink on his cheeks. Despite his handsome face, Lorenz can see sadness behind the smile.

They stare at the hot grassland, the rustling of the dry blades calming Lorenz’s thudding heartbeat. Before he can stop himself, he speaks up again.

“I’ve never told anyone.”

Claude’s eyes are suddenly on him. Lorenz forces himself to meet his gaze.

“Why not?” Claude’s voice is earnest and kind.

“It was never important.” _Not until now._

“It’s always important.” Claude says with so much certainty, Lorenz almost believes it.

It makes Lorenz think. He hasn’t brought it up before, so he decides to now. If it goes poorly, he will make his leave and never see Claude again. “Did…did Hilda know?”

He can almost see where his words pierced Claude’s chest because Claude’s expression changes almost instantly. His mouth droops. His eyes grow tired. Dragging a weary hand into his hair, Claude nods. “She knew almost everything. She knew the most important things.”

“She knew about this secret life you had?” Lorenz jokes. He grabs another fig.

Claude laughs bitterly. “Yes. She figured it out before I told her. She knew most of it.”

“Were you…did you…were you both—“ Lorenz tries but he can’t get his words out.

Claude closes his eyes. It hurts to see him like this, a pain so deep but unseen by anyone. The furrow of his eyebrow is the only indication of his hurt. But as always, he just breaths another laugh. “No. We never talked about being involved with each other. I don’t think she ever liked me like that. She…” Lorenz watches as he picks up his rook. Instead of placing it, his hand encloses around it. “She never wanted me like that.”

Lorenz thinks about that for a long while.

The sunset is slow and lazy as it disappears, and the two men play their game. Lorenz watches the Master Tactician bring a curved finger to his lower lip, dark eyebrow furrowed against the narrowed bottle-green eyes. As the game progresses, the frown gets deeper and deeper. _How endearing._ When the stars start to emerge, Claude finally smirks and moves his last rook with a sort of gusto Lorenz hasn’t seen before. His heart skips.

“Check.”

Lorenz stares at the board and after considering a few modes of action he realizes he’s backed himself into a wall. He deliberates for a few minutes and finally makes a measured move.

Claude blinks.

“Don’t get cocky, von Riegan.” Lorenz warns. “Do not doubt my abilities.”

Claude speaks an Almyran word that Lorenz can’t understand, but senses to be a curse. After a good five to ten minutes of thinking, Claude makes his final move. Lorenz’s eyes widen.

“I would never doubt your abilities, Lorenz.” Claude stretches. “Check.”

Lorenz sighs. No matter where he moves, Claude’s rook would take his king. Lorenz surrenders with a shrug. “Good game.”

Claude almost remorsefully takes Lorenz’s king. Without saying another word, he starts putting the chess pieces away into its wooden box.

Lorenz looks at the blackening night. He imagines it wouldn’t be a difficult ride back to the Goneril territory because of how bright the moon is. “I should get going.”

“It’s late. You should stay. You can leave in the morning.” Claude closes the box and places it back inside the ottoman.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

“Never.” Claude stands and yawns. “Do you need a change of clothes?”

“I had brought some just in case…”

“It’s settled then.”

Lorenz watches Claude stand and stares at him helplessly from the floor, suddenly feeling very small. “I…ah…where am I going to—”

Claude sheepishly runs a hand through his hair, his lips going into a tight line. “I only have one bedroom, and I won’t ask you to sleep here—”

“—Don’t you dare offer me your bed—”

“—You can take my—” Claude halts and laughs at Lorenz’s interjection. “I would imagine you would want to be comfortable.”

“I do.” Lorenz huffs at Claude throwing back his head in laughter. “But It would be rude of me to do so.”

Claude pauses to consider the two of them. “We could probably both fit.”

Lorenz’s breath stops and he stares at the other man.

“In my bed…I mean.” Claude cringes at his proposition. “Of course, if you’re not comfortable with that, by all means, please take it.”

“Nonsense.” Lorenz stands and waves his words away. He’s surprised at the nonchalant front he is putting out. His heart is beating too fast. “It’s only fair.”

“Ah good.” Claude beams. “Finally, someone to help soothe me while I have my nightmares.” He winks at Lorenz, who has to take a moment to even consider whether the man was joking or not.

Before Lorenz can inquire, Claude makes his way to the washroom. Suddenly feeling tired, Lorenz brings his small satchel of things to the bedroom. It’s a humble room, a good enough size for a single person. The furniture is natural, made of wood and lightly stained. Again, Lorenz would never guess it was for a prince of a nation until he made his way to the many furs on the bed and the beautiful richly colored rug on the floor. Sticks of incense lay near the window, one half burnt. Out the window, he sees the two wyverns resting against each other, not yet asleep.

A rather ornate desk sits in the corner, standing out from the rest of the room, piles and piles of papers stacked and scattered on the surface. Lorenz meanders to the desk, a sprawl of letters spread on it. He lifts one to read and recognizes the looped handwriting.

_Dearest CVR,_

_Happy birthday. One step closer to being an old man! I hope this arrives in time unlike last year when our letters got intercepted. I still mourn the fact that the earring I made you got stolen. I included a better one this year that I think suits you better. It is made from Almyran Gold, just like you suggested. I think it would look rather cute, but I have a feeling that earring you wear is quite special to you. Just an option for you to take._

_I hope you are holding up well in between Alliance Roundtable Meetings. Holst says you look exhausted, but I do not blame you. Dealing with my brother_ and _Count Gloucester? I think it would drive me insane._

_As for me, I am doing decently. Tensions at the border are rising, but I have been trying to assuage Holst as much as I can, just as you said. Do not worry, I didn’t explain why. You know I am good at excuses. Meanwhile, I have been reading (I know!) about our history and trying figure out the start of this conflict. I can’t help but notice it’s horribly biased, and at times, hard to read by how harsh their language is towards Almyrans. And I keep thinking about the children in our estate and territory. I want to do something, Claude. And I’m sure we can work together._

_When are you traveling to Almyra? I know you like to take some weekends there. Next time you pass through Goneril, make sure to say hi, and I can give you a proper birthday with a hug and maybe even some sweets. You don’t prefer cake, but it’s a birthday celebration and you’re going to enjoy it. I know you’re going to pass by without saying a word, but that’s not fair to your good friend. Yes, I’m trying to guilt you. You better do it! I don’t think I can keep being your ally if I can’t see my friend’s face once in a while._

_Yours,_

_HVG_ ♡

Lorenz stares at the parchment, at the inkblot that pooled right after Hilda picked up the quill after writing _Yours._ He turns to Claude, who returned from the washroom and already crawled under the many furs of his low bed.

“Did you ever go visit?” He inquires.

“Hmm?”

Lorenz holds up the letters. “I…didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s okay.” Claude sits up and makes his way to Lorenz, taking the letter from him and stroking the ink, dried years ago. His fingers linger on her initials. “No, I never went to visit. She got fed up with me and started begging Holst to bring her to the meetings. She was so insistent.” A faraway look mists over his eyes.

“She was your friend, wasn’t she? You never bothered to—“ Lorenz tries to hide his bubbling anger.

“I was afraid.” Claude sighs, and Lorenz can feel his regret. “I was afraid of what she thought of me. I knew she knew my heritage, but with her family’s history with my people…”

“She was trying to fix it, look at what she’s saying!” Lorenz exclaims. “And you never…!”

“Not until the war truly picked up and I needed her support. I was too afraid of her pushing me away if she knew too much about me. Or if she knew how I felt about her. In that way, I was selfish.”

Lorenz looks at the multiple letters on the desk, all addressed to Claude. Every letter started with _Dearest_ , ending with _Yours_. “She cared for you, look at all of this correspondence. She _died_ for y—“

Claude turns and Lorenz stares at him in exasperation as Claude sits on his bed, hands holding his head. Lorenz stares at a letter he recognizes as his own and lifts it. Like a little wish, he takes Claude’s letter from his own breast-pocket and places it under his own. Leaving it on the table, he finally takes the liberty of going to the washroom to soap away the travel and sweat, change into some spare clothes he had brought along, and make his way to the bedroom. Claude’s turned away from him, and that makes Lorenz comfortable enough to slip under the furs. The pillow is linen and cool against his warm cheek.

Getting comfortable is easy. Lorenz almost drifts to sleep when his hand slips under the pillow for support and he touches a smooth handle. He sits up to pull it from under the pillow and realizes it is a dagger. His breath catches and he glances at Claude’s back, wondering how much hurt this man has gone through in order to hide a dagger in his place of rest. His mind races to the tired look in Claude’s eyes, and he breathes deeply, placing the blade at the bedside table.

Claude must have known because he speaks. “Sorry…an old habit that never died.” He turns and offers a smile. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Do not concern yourself with that.” Lorenz responds gently. He lowers himself to rest his head, and turns to look at Claude. “I hope…I’m not intruding.”

His laugh is soft. “I invited you into my home.”

“I know, but I cannot help but feel as if I’m being intrusive. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t planning on staying this long—”

“I’m honored to have you here. Truly. I don’t want to push the people I value away anymore. I have never expressed this in school, but your existence always challenged me to do better and I’ve valued our friendship, no matter how strained it could be.”

Lorenz ponders a moment before speaking again. “I don’t want it to be strained. Part of it must have been my demeanor, I was ignorant and foolish, and I look back now, and I feel ashamed—”

“We all harbor guilt about the past. Don’t dwell on it too much, it matters what you are now.” Claude’s voice is earnest. “You’re a good person, Lorenz. I always saw that in you.”

Lorenz blinks away tears and turns towards the ceiling, the support beams of the estate suddenly of interest to him. “You’re a better man than I’ll ever be, Khalid.”

Claude laughs bitterly. “That sounds almost like a confession.”

Words escape before he can even stop himself. “And if it is?”

He can hear the rustle of sheets as Claude turns towards him. The silence that follows is heavy and feels like it lasts an hour. “I don’t know if you want to subject yourself to someone who cannot let go and take his own advise.” Claude speaks slowly, measuring his words.

A warning. Lorenz sighs. “The heart is foolish.” He’s known that for a while now. Why else would he come to Almyra, all on a whim? On some foolish hope that the man he pined for years would suddenly want him in return? After experiencing some awful regret with someone else he had loved? He really was a fool.

They lay in silence, so long that Lorenz thinks he has fallen asleep. Lorenz, however, is plagued with his thoughts, exhausted at how much he has learned and opened up to another person. He feels as vulnerable as a hermit crab he followed one night as a child on the Derdriu shores, looking for a shell to protect itself. Taking steady breaths he tries to calm himself to sleep.

Claude whispers into the darkness. “Why did she do it?”

Lorenz turns towards the voice beside him. The moonlight is just enough for Lorenz to find Claude features. “What do you mean?”

“Why—” Claude takes a breath. Gods, he sounds so broken. “Why did she throw herself to the Empire? It’s like she wanted to die. She _always_ told me…” He trails off, and he heaves another deep sigh, heavy like glass and just as fragile.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lorenz feels the deep pit in his heart swell in his chest. “She died for you because she loved you.” His throat closes and a sob forces its way out.

Lorenz lets the tears slide into the silken pillow beneath him. He wipes his tears away, thankful the room is dark enough that Claude can’t see him. The bed shifts with Claude’s weight and he feels his warm fingers on his face, thumbs wiping across his wet cheeks. Lorenz sniffs before another cry comes out and he can’t hold it back anymore. He’s too embarrassed about how much of a mess he is to notice when he feels lips close against his own.

Claude’s lips.

His mind goes blank. Then his world is spinning, as if he’s ascending higher and higher, melting into Claude and his strong arms, his gentle lips. Nothing else exists outside of this bed, just the two of them, free falling through space, the gravity of their masses spinning lazily in orbit around each other as Lorenz’s thoughts catch up to the rest of him. Lorenz puts a hand to Claude’s chest to part them suddenly and turns towards the ceiling slowly, heaving breaths.

Confusion and adrenaline fogs his head. Lorenz touches his lips. He realizes all he can smell is Claude’s pine cologne against the sheets, light against his body, and his head spins. He holds a hand to his forehead just to feel how hot he is. His voice shakes like the last of the autumn leaves that blow off just at the start of winter. “Isn’t this…isn’t this an insult to her memory?” Guilt sits itself deep in his gut. What an awful feeling. _Why did he do that? Why did he give himself to such whims, Hilda was his **friend**_ **.**

“I…It…” Claude can’t form a sentence. He just lays there slack jawed until Lorenz hears him suck in his breath, the type of breath that disguises the whimper before tears.

Before Lorenz stops himself, he leans over, his hair spilling over his shoulders onto Claude’s cheeks, and kisses him again. Claude pulls him closer and Lorenz presses himself into his embrace. Hands in dark waves of hair, flowing like rivers, Lorenz pulls himself away, their lips parting with a sound that hangs in the air like bells. The breeze from the open window blows it away. Lorenz tastes tears on his lips.

Lorenz settles next to the warm of Claude’s body, his cheek resting on his shoulder. Lorenz thinks about what he had just done, the doors he refused to touch as a teenager suddenly flung open. He thinks about the expectations placed upon him, to uphold a legacy, to be a proper noble, to marry a woman. He suddenly remembers.

“Claude.” He says urgently. “I just remembered something.” He reaches for Claude’s hand.

He feels Claude’s hand find his.

“My father…made a proposition to the Gonerils.” Lorenz gasps. “We were supposed to join land and families.”

Claude doesn’t speak.

“She didn’t know about their plan, but…oh, _Claude_ …I was going to marry—”

“Please…” Claude’s voice cracks. “Please no more.” Water fills his voice and his hand grasps Lorenz’s.

The hold each other in silence until Claude whispers. “I miss her so much.”

“I know.” Lorenz squeezes his hand. “I do too.” He brings Claude’s hand to his lips before their shared presence calms them enough to fall into sleep.


End file.
